Six months ago, I was still seriously unpacking into my new apartment. Figment and I were working out the rocks in our friendship, and things were ... a lot more tense and UST than they are now.
Nine months ago, I had two adult roommates, one eight-year-old boy roommate, plus an assortment of pets. I was giving plasma, doing arcane things with chocolate, hiding presents from kids, and keeping cats away from giftwrap they'd chew up.
Twelve months ago, I was making cracks about fortune cookies, chatting, reading, geeking. I mused on geek courtship tactics, and how acting dumb does not win the kind of mates I want. I battled depressive attacks that struck me with a lot more vigor than similar attacks do now.
Twenty-four months ago, I was finding old lost things, raging over illegal phone calls, sublimating my rage, and finally using my well-honed rage as a mirror to use the obnoxious behavior of others back against them.
I seem to have reached a level of calm where the inside and the outside are nearly synchronous. It used to be that I'd look sweet while being a roiling bubble of rage. By thirty, will I be as unflappable as Aral's dear Captain?
