P.S. I fell off the face of the earth.

I took a two-and-a-half-year hiatus from my blog. It's true.

I graduated from college, got married, moved into my first apartment, got a job at a bookstore, got a job at a newspaper, moved into my second apartment, holed up for a year, started heavy medications for anxiety and panic attacks, moved into my first real house, and finally remembered my blog. Hey, no big loss. I mean, it's here for me and not anyone else, so if I manage to forget to update it for 30 months, who's going to notice?

Maybe it's an indication that life was really good. I don't mean that I've filtered everything through rose-colored glasses, although it's quite easy to look back on the last couple of years and realize things really weren't as bad as I thought they were at the time. But, really, if I was able to go for that long without keeping a diary-of-sorts (either on paper or online), then I must not have had anything terribly important to get off my chest.

Well, Paul's home with breakfast. I think he got McDonald's this morning. It's kind of become a ritual with us: Put off the grocery shopping each day by eating out all the time. He's very understanding, and we're both very lazy. No -- we're not "lazy." We just have different priorities than the rest of the world.

I mean, I can't complain. I've got a great husband, a wonderful job, an awesome home, and incredible friends. (Urp! I almost ran out of adjectives there!) I've got meds that keep my anxiety under control. I pay my bills, put off my errands, and play lots of video games. And you know what? It feels good. It feels good to be not-quite-25 and still a little bit irresponsible. I don't have pets and I don't have children -- and it's on purpose. I spent so much damn time in my life getting here -- studying my butt off, getting good scholarships, playing my piano all the time so I'd get better, reading all the time, constantly trying to improve myself.

And now, I'm happy just zoning for a while. Resting on my laurels. I'm finally satisfied with where I am, who I am and what I've got. So before my Type A-ness kicks in and drives me to strive for more, I'm going to go enjoy being me. Lazy, imperfect, anxious, cartoon-watching me.

Adios, amigos.