I don't know if I've talked about this yet, but my parents are getting ready to sell their house.

Our family has lived in that house my whole life. My grandfather built half of it himself, including my bedroom. My sister is having a hard time with the concept of leaving. I am, too, even though I don't live there anymore.

Even a slight change to the house was traumatizing for my sister and I, ridiculously so. We threw temper tantrums when my parents replaced the couch, or painted a room. We wanted everything to stay the same. We were spoiled by stability.

I am nothing if not a creature of habit. I like having my room, my space, my things. I have been this way my whole life. When I was growing up, my bedroom was a sanctuary for me. I never had to leave it. I don't know how else to say: I am very, very attached to that house.

My mother said that we should look at it this way: we were blessed that we were able to live for 20+ years in the same house. That's certainly true. Also: it's just a house. That's also true. But my sense of home is connected in a profound way to that house. There are a thousand memories for me there.

I know every crack of the sidewalk and every blade of grass on the lawn. I know the dip in the concrete where rain collects. My sister and I used to see things in the patterns of the sliding door: there's a woman blowing bubble gum, although we never gave her a name. Who will live there after us? It's almost impossible to imagine. They might get rid of the fuzzy yellow wallpaper, the shag carpeting, the orange kitchen cabinets. They will never see the gum woman. They won't love the house the way we did.

I had my first kiss in that house. I lost my virginity there. Posters of the New Kids on the Block once covered every inch of my bedroom walls. My sister and I played everything from "mechanics" to "hurricane" to "spies" in our front yard. We had graduation parties and Easter egg hunts and a luau. We made a hundred home movies. I think of the many times my friends slept over: Charlotte on a mattress on my floor, or Tim in my bed, with our cat on his head. I remember talking to my sister through the paper thin walls. Or banging on the walls, screaming at her. It's all sort of idyllic in the memory, like a sepia toned home movie.

Of course, I know that selling the house at this point makes sense for my parents. They have to sell one of the houses, and my grandmother's house is in better condition and has a pool. So it makes good sense. And I am thankful, really. For the longevity of my parents' marriage, and the stability of my childhood, and the refuge that my room and my house provided me for many years; I am nothing but thankful.

The memories I have aren't going to disappear. Learning to let go is just a part of growing up. I know this. But the next time I go home, "home" might not be there anymore. And that creates a bitter pang, all the same.

I got my first rejection letter today, from that batch of poetry I sent out not too long ago. Damn, that was quick. I think I have a fairly healthy attitude about rejection. My attitude is: Wow, these editors are morons. That's healthy, right?

Also, I went back and looked at what I sent them, and it was just a bunch of old stuff. When my new, fresh, favorite stuff gets rejected, then I'll start wailing about being in a graduate program that's not teaching me how to write better poetry. But that hasn't happened yet, so for now, we're all safe. There will be no wailing today.

The editors are still morons, though.

I stayed up until five this morning playing with my Sims. Hey, what are spring breaks for, right?

I created a new family, called the Peeps family. (Tim, Mickey, Dora, Winona Ryder, Tinkerbell and Cassie.) They're sort of the welfare Sims, since they live in a one room shack. Let me give you a contrast. Here's the home where the seven members of the Famous family live:

The house is too big to get in one shot. Notice the pool room, which contains both a pool table and the swimming pool. Clever, non?

So that's the Famous mansion. And here's where the six Peeps live:

Better put the menfolk to work!

One of the Peeps made the mistake of rubbing the magic lamp. The genie promptly set their heart shaped vibrating bed on fire. Before anyone could call the fire department, the entire house burned to the ground and everyone died. I think the Peeps were running a meth lab.

It was pretty funny, but I don't have any pictures. That's because I wanted to save my little Peeps. So I exited without saving, and when I came back, the Peeps were all still alive, but my photo albums had been deleted. That's the price you pay for playing God, I guess.

Meanwhile, back at the Pie house, Mo Pie asked Kate Winslet to move in with her. I have no idea where Katie is going to sleep. Actually, I think I'll buy a vibrating heart shaped bed so they can have Sim sex. Living vicariously through my Sims. That's just sad.

Cheap thrills, baby.

When we last left the Journalers, all the women decided to make a play for stee. But to my surprise, none of the women have managed to make any inroads. The last time I checked on him, he was having an intimate conversation with new friend Brad Pitt. Very intimate.

Yes, he's sitting on the toilet. I don't even want to know what is going on here.

And John Scalzi is still dead.

The urn has been moved to the bathroom. Every time any of them go to use the bathroom, they get distracted by the urn and start mourning instead.

Stee is either getting ready to cry, or he's saying, "Get out of the bathroom, women! Brad and I have a date in here at ten!"

The other funny thing is that some of the Sims have jobs now. Mo Pie is still on the bottom rung of the Slacker career track, working as a convenience store clerk. Kate Winslet is a tabloid reporter. Eleanor and stee are both in the Entertainment track, working as extras.

I think stee's new career means Mar has got the hots for him. She's daydreaming.

Brad Pitt is doing a little better, and is currently a B-movie star. Jennifer Lopez is a wedding singer (Musician career track, of course). John Ritter is in the criminal career track, and is working as a Bookie.

Gillian Anderson is working her way up Law Enforcement. Here's a perfect one: David Duchovny is in the Paranormal track, and is currently working as a conspiracy theorist. (He has been a psychic friend, tarot reader, hypnotist and medium. I love the Paranormal track.)

Mar should probably also find a job in the Paranormal track. Every time I turn around, she's consulting her Madame Liotta crystal ball...

Tell me if stee will dump Brad and be mine...

"1. Remember the Foul and Mysterious Odor that emanated from her office? Now it emanates from her corner and throughout the room where we all work. I am, literally, going to bring in a can of Lysol tomorrow and spray her corner down, because I can’t handle the rancid smell which wafts over me all fucking day long. "