Independent

It was somewhere around 2004 or 2005 that I recall saying to myself something along the lines of "Please, God, don't change my life. Everything is perfect right now just the way it is." My life, I thought, had hit a really stable groove. I was happy then and there. It was this nice, tranquil little bubble, a smooth flat stretch of ground in between the chaotic twists and turns that always seem to crop up along the path from birth to death. I don't remember the "when" so much as I remember "a contented feeling of safety and routine and subsistence", the three things even an autistic kid could love.

I find myself saying it again right now. Everything is pretty much as perfect as it's gonna get, and I'm going to do everything in my power to cram as much awesomeness into this upcoming long weekend as I can, even if it did rain incessantly last night and abort my first attempt to go kayaking down the Sammamish River. Our objective was to paddle to the Redhook Brewery, so even though the trip got rained out, we drove down to the brewery anyway and had dinner.

This weekend will involve grilling, the Seattle International Beer Festival, and probably a trip to REI to buy myself some kind of outdoorsy hat to best Monk's own rugged scalpular accessories. The 3G iPhone hits the market in like eight days and I am positively giddy with excitement for that fact.

It amazes me sometimes when I stop to actually think about it just how good I have it. This is a typically ominous statement that heralds a terrible and permanent change for the worse, but it turns out this is reality, not a TV show. My life is actually pretty darn good. There's certainly plenty of stuff to keep me occupied: there is more to do than can ever be done, more to drink than can ever be drunk. Good lord I love this town.