Oh, my.

          Watching Anaconda - JLo, a young Owen Wilson, Ice Cube, and a guy who was probably supposed to be played by Christopher Walken but was instead played by a very creepy old man. Very creepy. Like, Gary Busey creepy. We're about an hour into the movie and only one guy has died so far.
          Earlier, Jurassic Park 3 was on. I'm finding that I'm strangely attracted to ridiculous movies where people are eaten by large animals. I grew up watching the Jurassic Parks and Anaconda and Night of the Lepus and Jaws and Lake Placid. They're awesome, but probably also the reason that being eaten is the irrational fear I tend to harbor (leading me to avoid deep water and to sleep with none of my limbs hanging over the edge of the bed).
          Oh, hey, Owen Wilson was just eaten by a giant snake.
          It's good to finally be back at school. I have a lot of work to catch up on, and I went in for an interview for a job at the local coffeeshop (where I spend the majority of my free time). I have another interview on Monday. It'd be nice to get the job. I feel like working in a coffeeshop is something I need to do at some point in my life. And I'm finally back with friends who get as excited by plans to watch Independence Day and Jumanji as I.
          I've been cooking with scraps lately. My fridge is nearly bare, and my cupboard is getting close - currently, I'm strapped enough for cash that groceries are out of the question. But, yesterday, I pulled together a dinner of potato soup and chocolate pudding for dessert, and today I made black bean and barley soup, with cornbread muffins, too. Tomorrow, it looks like I'll be having popcorn for lunch and oatmeal for dinner. After that ... lentil soup and brown sugar look like the only items on the menu for a while.
          JLo just decked the creepy guy across the face!

          I've fallen off in my letter writing. I'm going to pick it up again. When I was home, I went through some of the papers I'd saved from when I was in London - I found a bunch of letters I'd received from people while I was there. There's something instantly nostalgic about those envelopes, pudgy with pages covered in ink, bearing my name written in familiar hands.
          That recognition of a friend's handwriting - it's intimate. It's like recognizing someone's voice, or their footstep. I'm as warmed by it as I am by hearing my name said by a loved voice. We rarely call each other by our names. Friends, I mean. Mostly this is because we know who we're talking to, know who we mean. But it becomes, in my mind, a gesture of affection, to take the time to say someone's name when you're speaking to them.
          For a while, I was pretty certain that I was turning into more of a pragmatist, but I guess it's clear now that I remain mostly a hopeless romantic.
          But the moral of the story is that I plan on writing more letters. I need to buy more stamps. And envelopes. Does anyone else find envelopes exciting? There's as much room for creativity and expression on an envelope as there is in a letter. I never feel right about sending a letter unless I've paid attention to the envelope as well.

          There we go. More people have been eaten by the snake. I think I can go to bed satisfied, now. With my arms and legs safely tucked up on top of the bed, of course. No giant alligator or rogue velociraptor is going to chomp off my feet, thanks.