This week has been a crazy one, full of ups and downs and not so much sleep.
I turned 26 and had a significantly better birthday than last year (let's just say, a friend whose birthday is also in August and who also moved to L.A. for a Ph.D. program suggested that there should be a special committee for people like us to make sure our first birthdays here don't suck so much)—with friends and games and cake. I got some great, awesome, thoughtful gifts and cards and phone calls from people I really care about. I successfully facilitated a discussion about organizational culture with 35 students (at which I was told that I had a remarkable amount of energy for 8 in the morning; I was just trying to get to my next cup of coffee). I convinced friends to do what amounted to surgery on my walls to hang up what I thought would be simple shadow boxes (they are beautiful, and I very much appreciated the help). I beat up my feet so badly that even the thought of shoes with backs makes me cringe (which will make Shabbos interesting). I was disappointed by people I didn't even realize I cared that much about. I hurt someone I know I care a lot about by being selfish (combined with a misunderstanding and some niceness but still). I accumulated enough work to last me the entire semester. I got up at 5:30 one morning. I graded 70-some odd papers. I made a fool of myself by not recognizing someone I had spent a significant amount of time with two nights before. I had a crazy shidduch story (that didn't even involve a date). I confirmed plans for six Rosh Hashana meals but started worrying about 12 Sukkot/Shmini Atzeret meals.
But in any case, I am 26 years old. I feel sort of old. And tired.