Well January, I am almost done with you.  You were a real kick.  My friend had a baby and he is the most beautiful thing.  I started my second semester of grad school.  And I now reside in the library.  

Abbie and I have already decided.  If I make it through this, we're each packing a bag of three dresses and a bikini and we are going to Greece.  I picture the dresses and the sand and the smile I'll have on my face every time I walk to my dusty corner in the library.

Classes are killing me.  I keep telling myself, "Self, they are going to figure it out soon.  That you don't belong here, that you are a fake."  But I am on week four and so far no one has blown my cover.  Last week I read 689 pages and then because I am a freak I re-read half of them.  I sit through class and my body thinks it's running a marathon.  By the time the three hours are over I'm a sweaty, tired mess.  I leave a trail of smart clothes on the way to my comfy ones and then I breathe and hug the dog.

This is a different sort of academic world for me, it is the secular sort that I had never experienced before.  And they use a different register here, a different lens to look through.  I am slowly catching on.  Thursday nights are still my favorite because it is the end and it means that one more time I have made it.

This Thursday I drove out to a friend's so she could borrow my great red pants for Colorado.  We grabbed chinese and skinny cows and camped in the basement with Nanny McPhee.  Halfway through she paused it and she told me her mom had called her to let her know that she didn't want her to be alone her whole life.  We both kind of smiled.  And then she looked at me and said, You know, sometimes I just want to be held.  I told my mom, I don't ever get held.

Part of me hurt a little.  And then I snorted.  Yeah.  There are some nights when I know I shouldn't shave my legs or listen to country music and I without a doubt should not be around any boys.  There are some nights when I feel very out of control.

It isn't easy, fighting nature.  But it does save me a bit of shower time.  The library is already cramping my hygiene time as it is.  I know.  I've become one of those beat down students that I always looked at in disgust.  I finally had to cancel an evening plan just so I could have a night to fix my hair and put my face in order.

If you know me at all, you know my hair can make me crabbier than anything else in this world.  I know, I'm working on it.

I had some blood work done today to follow up on some things and my doctor, 70 years old, white hair and all, gave me the boy talk.  Right there in the middle of my wellness check.  Tasha, you need to find a mature male.  What is a mature male?  I'll tell you.  Someone who'll love you more than himself.  And Jesus more than you.

Great doc.  I'll add that to my list of assignments.  Sorry, I'm dating the library this semester.  Maybe I'll find him after I find my hairbrush.  

Really, I just smiled and nodded. 

And then I went out and bought a great pair of clunky leather boots.  I put them on and instantly felt a little sassy and a lot unconventional.  I looked at my mom and said These are the boots for me.  

I have a new baby to hold.  I have sixteen months until the ocean and wine and sand.  And I have really great people in my life.  Right now I have beastly school to beat and this perfect pair of boots on my feet.