Stock taking.

I stole this idea off someone else's blog, but I'm always evaluative around my birthday.

20 years ago
I was 10 years old and living in Mission Viejo, California. My proposed Halloween costume that year was Baby from Dirty Dancing. We both had perms; I thought that would be enough. My mom would not let me be her. (Put in a corner!) My 6th grade teacher was Mr. Schick, a smarmy single guy who drove a lime-green convertible and who hit on my mom. This was also the year that I drew my own birthday invitations (Garfield sitting in a pan of lasagna!), but only one person came to my party because a rival girl threw a party on the same night just to spite me. I'm sure it was totally fetch.

10 years ago
I was in my senior year of college at Point Loma Nazarene College in San Diego. I was writing the back-page column in the student newspaper for the second year and was editor of the opinion section. I was living off campus with three girl who had already graduated. We lived close enough to the bay that we could hear the seals when our windows were open. We liked to smoke clove cigarettes with boys from our school who were in a band. I had no career aspirations and no future plans other than I never wanted my life to change from what it was that year.

5 years ago
I was "staying" with my parents in Walnut Creek, California. I had graduated with an MFA in May and couldn't find a job, so I had moved from Memphis to California with the idea that I would find a job in San Francisco and live my life on a fault line. It never happened. I went to the City at least once a month to see my poet friend Mark and his then-girlfriend Kim, a professor at Berkeley. They lived in Noe Valley and threw excellent parties with interesting people. I got a job temping at the local newspaper and spent my non-work time with my then-18-month-old niece. Within two months, I would fall down the stairs while carrying her to look at Christmas lights and break her leg. I stayed at my parents for nine months.

2 years ago
I was several years into my life in Austin and was working my dream job at what turned out to be a short-lived nightmare of a company. I was the editor of literary resource books, which meant lots of reading and writing and thinking about literature. Heaven. The company went under after 8 months. I had also just bought my condo and moved in; the only rooms that were painted this time 2 years ago were the kitchen and the guest room. It was an adjustment to be living in a place big enough that my bed wasn't in the same room as the front door (first time in 5 years).

1 year ago
I was 4 months into my current job and trying to figure out if I hated it enough to jump back into the job market. Turns out I didn't. At night, I was sleeping with my hands balled into fists to keep my new kitten from attacking my fingers--behavior I was assured would pass (still waiting). I was in the middle of sanding, priming, and painting my kitchen cabinets, the single worst home-improvement project I have ever undertaken. I was just back from my annual weekend in North Carolina, where I missed the fall foliage by about two weeks for the 3rd straight year.

Today
I emailed, talked on the phone, sent faxes, thought about commas. Then I bought new sheets and listened to Brandi Carlile. Tonight I will go to Movie Nite at the co-workers' house.

Tomorrow
I will email, talk on the phone, send faxes, and think about commas. I will start a class on Modern literature at UT with Chris, and then we'll go to dinner.