This free wifi in my apartment is less than … well, good .. and I lost a bunch of revisions to a blog post that got so bogged down and boring that I had to nap just writing it. Maybe it’s a sign that the post shall be eternally in Draft mode. In essence:

• I got a bunch of crap moved out
• I had to move a bunch of crap back in (Elderly Relative’s possessions, the last of my storage space clearout)
• Lots of bellyaching, UNTIL
• A friend from the Bay Area arranged a visit with me down here soon. And she’s a professional organizer. And since she wants to write off her trip, she wants to give me a free consultation. WHAT? Thanks, universe!

So, yeah, that was the blog post. I’m just going to run down the state of the Becky union now, and I almost guarantee this won’t be scintillating writing either, since I’m going to start with OATMEAL!

I have been eating this, or a close variation of this, almost every day since the start of the year. I realized there was nothing stopping me from making the long-cooked steel cut oats in the morning. What, it was going to interfere with my hectic, work-from-home-in-my-underwear mornings? Half a cup of full-fat Greek yogurt, a banana. I’ve long said that regular AM oatmeal consumption is my contract with myself — I may fuck up in a variety of ways, nutrition-wise, over the day, but I can promise myself something non-confrontational at the start, to appease my dainty system. Results? I go through a lot of yogurts, bananas and oatmeal! And maybe my overall GI health is steadier. I dunno.

I have been making my bed every day. Results? My bed is made every day. It does seem to keep me from from creeping back under the covers during times I should be upright. Another thing that helps with that is that my laptop does not come to bed with me, only the iPad. I’ll cover that more another time.. trying to level out recreational screen time and work screen time and device addiction, etc.

As I had hoped, I am becoming comfortable with the thought of my birthday in May. The photo above is from some time around the start of the millennium. I am wearing a crown but there are no guarantees that it was my birthday. That’s Brian, Jackie and Jake from whom I’m stealing the spotlight. Chances are that’s the photobooth at Elbo Room in SF, and I immediately blush at all the shenanigans that took place there. I guess memories of shenanigans of yore are the things that keep an old lady warm in her dotage.

In May, I shall be turning 50. So there you go. I am smart enough to schedule a trip, so that on the actual birthdate I will have ready access to sun, sea, a large hat, a cocktail and Molly. Just in case I have a Norma Desmond-style meltdown:

So yeah. Time passes.

My stepdad’s singular, supremely organized packrat lifestyle as evidenced on this box label. I miss him.