(I know I have an air popper. I am telling you, that grocery store DOES THINGS TO PEOPLE. I bought sushi again! I bought colored marshmallows!)

The reason I spent so much money is that, well, I finally have some. I got a random $100 check from my insurance company for mileage reimbursement to my chiropractor last year. And for the past month or so, when I haven't been able to afford to go to the store, I've been writing down things that I need to shop for. Like toilet paper and birdseed, and shampoo, and envelopes, and batteries, and on and on.

I also bought beer and wine, since I am damn tired of always wanting a beer or a glass of wine and never being able to have it. I bought fruit and veggies and snacks and more mac and cheese and on and on. And yet, it feels like I didn't buy anything at all and I just need to go shopping again. Peculiar, no?

I wasn't able to find my favorite candy, which only comes out once a year: Cadbury mini-eggs. It's the biggest grocery store in the world, and they didn't have mini-eggs. My room is suffused with the smell of sweaty butter feet and I don't have mini-eggs. Life is hard sometimes.

Speaking of which, I had to go get a Pap smear this morning. And not only that, but when my nurse practitioner came in (She, by the way, RULES. Even more than my doctor does.) she asked if it would be okay if her medical student did my exam. I said sure, although I was kind of scared of the whole concept, because I am not really scared of Pap smears.

You see, I've had about seventeen zillion of them. I used to go to Planned Parenthood for things all the time-- birth control pills, the morning after pill, and those goddamned UTIs, and as soon as you walk in the door, they whip your feet into the stirrups and give you a Pap. It's like their version of greeting you as you walk in the door. Not quite The Starbucks Experience, but there you go.

I've heard horror stories, and I'm always waiting for the one Pap smear that really hurts, but so far I've been lucky. Today's was slightly more uncomfortable than most, but not too bad. And like I said, the nurse practitioner was really great throughout the whole thing.

(Two bits of slightly off-topic but related news: first, I found out that if I want medical insurance through Starbucks, I can't stay with Kaiser, it has to be Aetna. This would save me money, obviously, but I really don't want to lose my Kaiser coverage and I adore my doctors and the service in Northern Cal. So it's kind of a dilemma. And item number two is that the pills I got for the UTI last month totally cleared it up. I've been symptom-free ever since, for the first time in I don't know how long. It's really great. I'm trying not to get complacent about it-- drinking water, taking cranberry. But I keep forgetting. I guess I am complacent after all. Damn.)

Ramble ramble. What else? I'm going on the pill again. Something about hormone regulation, don't get too excited. I'm certainly not.

Oh, and I had this weird lumpy thing on my hip that I asked the nurse to check out. I was like, "You know, there's this weird thing that I've never felt before. But I should tell you that I've lost a little weight recently, so maybe it's always been there and it's just being uncovered or something." So she feels what I'm talking about and she says, "Um, yeah, that's a ligament."

A ligament! Interesting. I felt like Edina on that one episode of Ab Fab where she has been working out and gets freaked out by the appearance of a muscle.

I was listening to my new CD today on the drive home, and getting kind of sad. In the grand tradition of English-speaking people everywhere, I blame it on the French. The CD is French music and it's called Rendezvous Paris or something like that. It's beautiful music and fun to listen to, but I don't know. The French are just depressing.

Okay, maybe it's not the French. Maybe it's me. I admit it, I'm a little depressed.

I'm not usually one to go on and on about finding love and all that, cherishing my independence as I do, but it seems like everyone I know is falling in love except for me. (Even my professor, who is engaged to an ex-dominatrix classmate of mine. Really.)

Each of the (three) people I have dated in the past year is now dating someone else, and in each case, they've found someone better suited for them than I am. Not that I'm saying these new partners are empirically better than me, just a better match.

And I'm happy for them, I really am. It's not that I regret any of my breakups. And I don't begrudge any of my other friends their happiness because it's wonderful; it makes me thrilled for them and it gives me faith in love.

And I don't feel like I need a relationship to feel validated, either. I'm not out to catch a husband, or out to get a man to make me complete, or any Sex and the City bullshit like that. It would just be nice.

I have a romantic heart, somewhere underneath all this sarcasm and independence, and I've recently reconnected with it. I would love to find the perfect person to be with. Someone I could respect intellectually and be physically attracted to and spend time (but not too much time) with.

It would be nice to have someone to talk to about my day (all the stupid shit that I don't even tell you guys) and my dreams, and feed me chicken soup when I have the sniffles, and go bike riding with, and make out with for hours, and go to a movie with once in a while.

I guess I'm saying it would be nice to be in love. God, when was the last time I was in love with someone?

But then again, the whole Will the Pool-playing Pig-Dog thing did happen very quickly. I really did feel like he could be The One, and I have never felt that before. I don't regret the experience because at least it showed me that I am open to being with someone, for the first time in a long time. I am actually willing to admit that I'm a romantic at heart.

And it also taught me that when I least expect it, I could meet that one perfect person. I'm pretty cool after all; I must be someone's perfect person, and I just have to wait for them to find me. I just have to put the energy out there in the universe, right?

Okay, here I go. Universe, I am ready! I am ready to fall in love and have lots of sex and get married and have babies who I immediately ship off to boarding school. Send love to me, I am ready for it. Let's go, Universe. Bring on the romance, bring on the love, bring on the hot booty. (Don't bring on the babies. I was joking about that.) Come on, Universe!

Hey. Hello. Universe?

Universe, are you listening to me?

Hello?

"Almost everyone's interpretation was supportable by the text, or biographical knowledge of Dickinson, or surrounding poems. They were all 'valid' interpretations, and some of them were fascinating. There's really no way of telling what ED's intentions were. But I was happy, not because I was "right," but because I had extrapolated a meaningful reading of a complex poem basically off the top of my head."