What is the opposite sentiment of "hot-diggity"?

Today I woke up to the usual squirrel chatter outside my window. They only scratch and squawk at my window on weekends when I try to sleep in. I tried, somewhat successfully, to scare them away by banging on the window and yelling foul curses at them. Then I went back to my sheets instead of going for the run that I'd promised myself the night before.

An hour later, in which hour I did not sleep, it began to rain. Oh well, so much for the run, I thought. No sense in getting soaked for a little exercise. Actually, I thought, hot-diggity! I don't have to run!!

So, I made a lazy morning, eventually making coffee and eating breakfast. I braved the rain to go out in search of hard white whole wheat flour, which is apparently somewhat scarce. And on the way to Rainbow Whole Foods (the only place I've been able to find it) through the pouring rain what should I see but some punk girl out . . . running! AUGH! If one person can do run in the rain, I can no longer claim that excuse.

And then I was unable to think up a counter-phrase to "hot-diggity" which only furthered my frustration.

Don't worry, though, whoever you are (I'm sure you were very concerned). I've had a mostly productive morning despite that bad decision and the loss of my perfectly good excuse. Except for I must have left something out of that bread recipe when I copied it down because it came out way too dry. Sigh.

The Going Home Phenomenon

It never fails. I plan a trip to Mom and Dad's. I pack . . . carefully and (sometimes) sparsely. I return laden with a trunk full of . . . what?

I have no idea what my trunk is full of or where all this stuff keeps coming from. I've been trying to unravel this phenomenon for years now, but it never fails to occur, and I always fail to realize what's happening before it's too late.

This Christmas I was determined that it wouldn't happen. As a matter of fact, there was no way it could happen. I went home loaded up with Christmas gifts. Surely I would finally return to Jackson with less stuff than I had when I left.

HA!

I could barely close my trunk and filled up the backseat, too. ARG!

My current theory is that my parents are better at giving/ gilting stuff away than I am at saying no.

In other news: Aunt Melinda's chocolate truffles are the best, and at least if I bring them back with me, I can eat them up. Of course, then they stay with me in a quite different way . . . hmmm.

Please no

A tell-tale tickle and scratchiness in the throat. . .

A slight feeling of befuddlement and heaviness in the head. . .

Oh! Please spare me and by no means develop further! While despondently acknowledging your foul intentions to curse me with your presence, I beg you, Evil Head Cold, leave me alone!

Bacteria are such jerks. Ug.

Or, who knows. . .

Viruses are such jerks. Ick.

Ahh, Christmas! That magical time of year when a young man's fancy turns to. . . no, that's not it. Ahhh, Christmas! That magical time of year when people, overcome with goodwill toward all men, give gifts of food to each other because we all have so much stuff that there isn't anything left to give (unless it costs over $200).

I am fat.

This will be our first Christmas in Mom and Dad's new house. It's a bit smaller than their old house, but in many ways I like it more. It seems to fit them: Dad has his computer/engineering room; Mom has her sewing room and multiple reading areas; they both have a cozy yet adequately spaced kitchen for all their health food; and they have three beds, one for each of the kids.

I'm reading Madeline L'Engle's book A Wind in the Door and enjoying it, though it's a bit strange. I keep wavering between enjoying the story and wondering what point she's trying to make, if any. Who knows, maybe my worldview is warping and I'm not even aware! I've got to be on my guard or I could end up believing something I don't even believe!! Ack!

In other news: I'm exploring graduate programs. At the moment I'm researching humanities programs for one major reason. The most memorable, exciting, and profitable class I took in my whole undergraduate career was a Great Books class on the modern world. I learned more in that class than in all my upper level English classes combined. If I started a grad program in literature, I guarantee that after two months I would start shooting my toes off one day at a time. Literature is fine and dandy, but it is much richer when studied in conjunction with history, philosophy, science, psychology, and all the other parts of life that make it rich. I may be ignorant (part of the reason I am posting this: please, all you wise people, shower your knowledge on me!), but a general humanities degree seems to address all those areas. Plus U of Chicago has a program AND a University Press, which would hopefully mean that I could continue working in academic publishing. . . hopefully, hopefully on the editorial side.

And now it's time to end this post. I feel like I just wrote an email to a friend I haven't communicated with in a long time.

Grrrr.

Amazon super-saver shipping is fantastic.

UPS ground service stinks.

In a moment of weakness, I ordered some books from Amazon. Yes, I have spent more on my Christmas presents than on any I've bought for others. But discussing that further simply opens the floor to my problems with sin, self-infatuation, greed, and gluttony, which digresses from the point of this post.

The point of this post is to complain (yes, Uncle Jim, to complain). I love super-saver shipping because it always says it will be three weeks before you receive your package, and you've usually received it within five days. It sets your expectations low for you so that you can only be pleasantly surprised.

So I ordered these books and would track them occasionally from my computer. Within two days I saw an "arrival scan" for Jackson, MS. I expected to go home that night and find my terribly exciting new books waiting for me. They weren't. But that was fine. They were somewhere in Jackson, so I figured by the next day I'd see them.

The next day I checked the tracking site again, and it said something about "mis-sorted by carrier" in FARGO, NORTH DAKOTA.

?????

UG! Fine. So two days after they totally botched, shipping my package that was a matter of five miles from my house to some place five DAYS from my house, they finally have "departure scan" from Fargo.

If only machines ran the world, we wouldn't have mistakes like this. My life has just fallen to pieces with all this "mis-sorting" saga. How do they expect a girl to sleep at night when packages are randomly mis-sorted and sent to Fargo? It just removes all sense of peace and joy from my life. At this time of year that's just wrong.

I am disgruntled.

Futility?

Maybe posting a sentence just for the sake of having a post is an absolutely worthless endeavor. People can come look at my blog and say, oh! Hilary made a new post. But immediately upon seeing how utterly pointless it is, they'll feel let down, betrayed, and generally abused.

Perhaps it is a better idea to not post until I have something worthwhile to say. Not that what I'm saying now is worthwhile; I'm just trying to redeem my previous failure of a post.

Which brings me to another point: Why would I just talk about how pointless my previous post is instead of. . .well, deleting it? Would it be because I feel wasteful in trashing all the time and thought that went into creating that masterpiece? Or would it be because I just wanted to give myself something else to write about?

Either way, my head feels funny.

It's Time

Time for a new post, that is.

I'm at work, so this is going to be a sad post.

The end.

I love Mississippi

Not only is it one million percent humidity, it's raining! ha! Puddles!!

It's exciting to watch from my office window as the leaves change color. For some reason I forgot they did that here. I remember them drying up brown and falling off the trees sometime in the spring almost before the new leaves came in but not quite.

I must admit that I'm somewhat dreading the bareness that comes with the absence of leaves. Not only do I hear every little sound in the entire neighborhood and beyond but I end up feeling much more exposed to the skies above, and thus, more vulnerable to attacks from the Mother Ship......

Hm.

Self-control

Hm. I thought I wanted to write a post....

But, really, no one's making me, so why should I?

ha!

Joyful Contentment

Uncle Jim told me that all my posts are complaints.

This one isn't.

Oh, the agony! Oh, the joy!

Cool weather turning to cold weather calls for warm drinks. They are the best way for people of smallish body mass such as myself to raise that core body temperature. And they're soothing to boot.

Sweet as I am, I can only take so much of an unsweetened beverage before I begin to turn bitter. I've tried, oh how I've tried to learn to go sweet-free, but I just can't face the face-twisting lack of sweetness any more!

Why must sweetness come at such a price? You know I speak of calories. Ah, calories, the little packets of energy that fuel our actions and our figures, shaping them to untold proportions.

Gasp! Enter Splenda! (Thanks, Aunt Melinda!) The day is saved! I'm stocking up tonight.

If you don't like Splenda, I pity you. Enjoy your hot beverages with caution and a good, long walk at the end of every day.

time flies

Last post: September 27. A month and a day. And what a month and a day!

I think I've complained about time before on this blog (but I don't have the time to go back and see what I said), and I just want to complain some more.

Why is there always laundry to do? Why does the house keep getting dirty? Why do you look at a nice, clean sink one minutes, turn your back, and the look at it again to see it full of dishes? Come on, people! I really think I could spend all my time that I'm not at work cleaning or running errands or doing laundry or cooking.

Fellowship. Ah, the sweetness of that word. I find myself between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, I can make sure all these everyday, mundane tasks are completed AND fellowship, which leaves me with about 3 hours to sleep every night. On the other hand, I can ignore the mundane tasks until (say once a month) I have a few spare hours to complete as much as I am able.

Knowing that the first option leaves me dead in a few months, I've been opting for the second track.

Can I tell you how gross my house was? Maybe I won't. It's all clean now, praise God. My room? I almost couldn't get to my bed last night because of the build-up of clothes (I had to pull all my winter clothes out because it's that funny time of year when it's summer one day and winter the next). That hasn't happened to me in five years.

Okay, being able to talk about five years ago and have it still be within my adulthood is not happy. I am going to ignore my unironed clothes and fellowship.

Due to recent events

As one of my faithful blog readers pointed out, epinards are no longer our friends. Hence my blog has received a new title, one that, I hope, will do much to heal the pain and suffering caused by my previous title.

I am exceedingly sleepy.

Terms are what men live by

Invite: 1 a : to offer an incentive or inducement to : entice 2 a : to request the presence or participation of b : to request formally c : to urge politely: welcome

I define this lovely term (from Merriam-Webster's Collegiate) because I find it often confused with

Obligate: 1 : to bind legally or morally: constrain 2 : to commit (as funds) to meet an obligation

or even perhaps with the conveyance of

Expectation: 1 : the act or state of expecting : anticipation 2 a : something expected b : basis for expecting: assurance 3 : the state of being expected

I would have you note, dear readers, the verbs of action in my first term above: "offer," "entice," "request," "urge," and "welcome." These in no way imply obligation, rather they flatter the invitee, communicating that said invitee's company is desirable and valued.

The acceptance of an invitation then communicates to the inviter that she can expect to enjoy the invitee's company. The mere invitation (again, "offer") does not give the inviter any excuse for expectation.

Also, the communication of an invitation does not in any way morally bind a person to accept said invitation. This precludes the invitee from having to offer excuses (1 a : to make apology for (2) 2 a : something offered as justification or as grounds for being excused b : an expression of regret for failure to do something c : a note of explanation of an absence). If the invitation hasn't been accepted, one need only say "yes, I can" or "no, I can't."

That said, I'd also like to point out that wavering between "yes" or "no" can be a burden to the inviter, especially if you are only saying "maybe" because you think you'll hurt said inviter's feelings. The laws of politeness require that a "maybe" be treated as a "yes" since, in actuality, the invitee could show up. This prevents the inviter from extending the invitation to another who may be able to accept the invitation. Rude, rude, rude.

Now, to anticipate some comments I'm sure will come from this, I'd like to address the subject of desire. Often we would like to accept an invitation, but find that we have previous or more pressing engagements or obligations. In order to thank the inviter for the honor of giving us the invitation, we feel the offering of reasons (i.e., excuses) will communicate our disappointment in being unable to accept the invitation.

Mom taught me long ago to merely express the desire to accept (Oh, that's sounds lovely! I would really enjoy that moonlit walk on the beach) and follow with the applicable response (Yes, I'll climb out the window at 10:30 and meet you under the tree or No, I won't be able to join you). Listing "reasons" implies that you need reasons or are looking for something to justify your refusal. Back to square one! You aren't obligated; someone has offered you something and you need only accept or decline.

Also, if you fall into the habit of giving "reasons," you find yourself in a tight situation when you have no reason other than that you don't want to. There is NOTHING WRONG with not wanting to accept an invitation. You DON'T NEED TO OFFER EXCUSES; you are not obligated until you've accepted an invitation.

And really, this post isn't directed to anyone in particular. Really. Just me feeling in a preachy mood on a Sunday afternoon.

Dog psychology

I really know nothing of dog psychology, but I am a (sometimes) keen observer of behavior. They have some attention-gaining techniques which I have tried in vain to comprehend. Maybe you, my thoughtful blog readers, can offer some new insight.

1) If human ignores you, get up, take two steps, jiggle dog tags, and sit down. Observe human. If human turns to look at you, get up and assume anticipatory expression (this will cause human to feel guilt). When human again ignores you, click toenails on floor, taking three or four steps, jiggle dog tags, and sit down. Observe human. When human blinks, talks, moves, or breathes, get up, assume anticipatory expression, click toenails, jiggle dog tags, and lie down. Repeat as necessary.

2) If forbidden to enter human's room of occupation, assume a position as close to said room as possible. Smack lips. For best effect smack lips continuously for 1-2 minutes. If human makes comments such as "Argh! that is so disgusting!" continue smacking for at least 2 more minutes. Observe human. Sit quietly until human appears to forget your presence. Spread legs and begin to noisily lick between legs. Continue with gusto. Exclaimations from human of any kind are desirable.

3) If under any circumstances human goes toward the tile-floored room and appears to desire privacy, immediately follow and attempt to get in room with human. If door is pulled almost closed, attempt to stick nose in and observe human. If door is completely closed, assume lounging position immediately in front of door and wait. When human opens door, scramble to feet, click toenails, jiggle dog tags, and lie down.

Permanency

Teeth are less than they are cracked up to be. Or maybe teeth are more than they are cracked up to be since once they're cracked up they'll never be quite what they once were.

Anyway, I got my first real chipped tooth today. When you're as good looking as I am, vanity can be a touchy subject. Of course I want to be georgeous, intelligent, and successful/productive. Who doesn't? But my practical (hopefully more sanctified) side knows that life and happiness are not found through good looks and brains.

So how should I react to a chipped tooth? Of all things that could happen, it's certainly low on the impact scale. It's just a tooth. I still have all my fingers, toes, and various other appendages. It isn't even like I lost the whole tooth.

Shall I despair over my tarnished good looks? Or should I be stoic and say that my face now has more character? Should I mourn the fact that my teeth will never be the same? Dwell on the loss of a piece of what I've always been told was a "permanent" tooth? Or shall I rejoice that the Lord has gently reminded me that nothing in this world is permanent, and He is the only solid, unchanging part of my life?

Truthfully, I was really just afraid that I would have to get a gold cap like my dad used to have (Mom said it would shine and glint back when she first met him.... but I think she kinda liked it), but I don't think it's that bad.

And actually the chocolate I'm eating makes everything seem all right. If I eat myself to death, make my tombstone say "All is vanity. For love of a tooth she took her life. Beware that things so small should become bigger than life."

Okay, that's pretty crappy. Don't put it on my tombstone. Say something about how wonderful chocolate is.

Profundity

I really just wanted to say profundity but now I can't think of anything to do anything with it. Maybe I just wish I had some.... wait... why is that word underlined now? Isn't Html supposed to be easy? Am I that technologically handicapped? I don't even know if the stupid link works; I'll probably have to republish this post five times to get it working.

Have I ever mentioned that www.merriamwebster.com is my favorite website?

Sorry, the creative blood is not flowing; I can't even think of anything to amuse myself.

Here's to pointless posts.

P.S. I only had to edit it once to make the link work. I'm amazing!

On grammar

Sometimes I wonder, who really cares? or does it really matter?

Spelling, grammar, syntax, vocabulary. . . they're all just a bunch of words, right? As long as the next guy knows what you're saying, who cares how you say it or if you spelled it right when you said it. ore, hoo kars that yor koma wuz en thee rong plas? sylint "e" dont bother mee, i jus egnor em.

I really hate this post.

Sleep

I find myself most often tempted to deprive my body of sleep at night. Come morning, I find indulgence in sleep the more tempting option. Doesn't that seem an easy fix? Why is that an issue?
Why do I dread going to sleep and then dread waking up? Can't I embrace both and still find my time balanced?

My immediate response is that I just wish I didn't have to sleep so much. I wish I could stay up late and get up early and spend all my time doing the things I do while awake (i.e., wasting time). I stay up late because I want to keep blogging stupid, useless words from my head. I don't want to get up because I actually need more sleep in order to function. It's always been easier to make myself stay up than to make myself wake up.

Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we could just go to bed when we wanted and wake up when we woke up while still working a full 8 hours (or whatever schedule your continued existence requires)? I wonder what percentage of the population would end up being nocturnal. I know of at least two in my family who already practically sleep all day (classes or not) and stay up all night.

yeah...

See? I can do this.

Tonight it's raining, and I'm in a poopy mood.

Perfect time to eat chocolate and write a budget. That way I can enjoy the chocolate and feel good about organizing my life all while getting depressed about gaining weight and the fact that I spend more money than I make.

Life is good.

I've always wondered why rain is a sign of depression and cleansing, depending on the outcome. Though I hate the thought of it, I should read Dubliners again. I remember lots of rain and shadows, but I can't remember that anyone came out cleaner. I think they just got dirtier. On the other hand, I'm sure there are some stories where life is new and good and wonderful after rain. I wish I knew which ones they were.

I've decided to rebel against exceedingly long posts because I get tired of reading them.

Summer break is over

I suppose now that I have internet access my sabbatical from blogdom cannot continue. The up side is that people have probably totally given up on me ever making an update and I've lost all my blog readers. This means that it really doesn't matter whether I update or not.

I love freedom from pressure to perform.

And yet having pressure to perform and actually performing is a very fulfilling activity. The difficulty comes from having the option of failure. Failure is very deflating to self-esteem, and since our primary purpose is to maintain healthy self-esteem, it's hard to face failure.

Failure is an interesting concept to contemplate when I've stayed up past my bedtime. So much of what we term "failure" is socially constructed. However, failure as a sinner defines my very existence as a human bean. Makes me wonder if we could still practice cultural failure if sin didn't exist. I suppose any sense of failure flies in the face of perfection. But maybe our concept of perfection is marred as well.

Did I say something about bedtime?

You Get What You Ask For

I started to write an entry, but it was boring. Go read this: http://www.slate.com/id/2139871

A Small Tribute to Fudge Rounds

Little Debbie snacks. Why do they exist? Why do they sell whole boxes for a little over $1? Why is it so easy to justify buying something that's only $1? What is it about those wonderfully scrumptious cookie snacks that leaves you with a particular hollow feeling when you don't have any? What makes you look twice, thrice (or at least until you finally put them in your shopping cart) at that horrible corner in the grocery where all the Little Debbies live? I think it's drugs. Or perhaps an over-indulgent mother whose casual "go ahead and get them" is all the excuse I need to overcome a feeble conviction not to buy empty calories.

Come to think of it, are they really empty calories? Maybe I should quantify fullness in more than chemically nutritional values. After all, a human is much more than chemistry. Maybe Little Debbie will hire me for their marketing department.

mmmm

"contracts are sacred," he said with a cold glare. "but you can get out of them if you want to."

"spend a lot of money," my roommate clarified.

What's the point of saying something is sacred? Doesn't that meant holy, set apart, untouchable? Maybe I should consult the dictionary before I start to ramble, but it's the end of a long day, I'm drinking a good beer, and I just don't feel like looking it up.

Anyway, why say something is sacred and then say it's breakable? I think he just wanted to sound important, which he would have if I hadn't been thinking that he was just saying that to sound important.

And I think my beer is better than this post, so I'm not going to say anything else.

slavery to blogdom

I can no longer shoulder the guilt for not blogging in over a week.

There.

Have a sad day

http://worldmag.com/articles/11613

I think sadness has its place in a fallen world, but I do believe, also, that there is a place where there will be no more tears. Being a rather melancoly personality, I sometimes think that if I had nothing to mourn, I would create something. Saying no to sadness would deprive me of one of the "joys" of my existence. But that's just part of my personality that will one day realize redeemption. I wonder, though... our perception of sadness is certainly tinged by sin, so our perception of happiness must be, too. When we think of being happy happy happy all the time time time in heaven, it may not be the sort of happiness and absence of tears we envision from our worldly perspective.

We had a fight over that?!

Mom and I went through my closet of childhood memories. Every time I looked at yet another fluffy stuffed animal good for nothing but sitting around gathering dust I was struck with the faint feeling that I had fought my sister/cousin/friend/someone over that little collection of synthetic fibers shaped into a cuddly appearance. I wanted so badly (back in the day, mind you) to have possession of that little thing, whichever of the 15 things it happened to be... the little thing that I literally haven't thought of for one second in the past ten years. How can something that seemed to have so much significance be so utterly useless?

When I really face the facts, I realize, of course, that I took pride in owning a thing, in having something that others wanted, but making sure that it remained in my possession and others could only covet. And, unfortunately, I am also forced to face the fact that I still have this attitude about things, money, food, my time, whatever I could possibly claim to own. So I guess when I'm eighty, I'll look back on all the things that seem so immeasurably important to me now and realize that it was just a little pride-fit.

Am I starting to sound like a communist? I didn't really mean to, but I just heard some John Lennon song today about imagining no possessions... what a loon. Anyway, but I don't think the things are the problem; I know I'm the problem. Ha! and that's where you missed the mark, Mr. Lennon. So, even if I didn't have things, I'd find something to have that same attitude about so that ten years down the road I could look back at how frivolous my concerns were and cling that much more tightly to my currently unseen frivolous fascinations.

Well, here's to ten more years of personal growth and development.

Let's think of something to do while we're waiting

Mr. Rogers aside, I think I'm a very bad waiter. I guess most people tend to be impatient, but I'm just really having a hard time.

You tell me, should I be anxious when I am supposed to show up at work in another town one week from today and I still don't know where I'm moving or what I'm going to be able to take? Maybe I'm just blowing things out of proportion. I can't really do anything about it right now anyway. I have my number one plan (that I'm waiting to hear on), and I have my back-up plan (expensive, but stable). I've done my footwork. I've been responsible. Anxiety begone!

Knowing the future is impossible and won't make a difference, so I should just get over it. so easy to say.... I'm quitting my coffee fast, this is ridiculous.

not a bum's life

Though I suspect that I would perform well as a bum, I'm afraid that I've been conditioned otherwise.

I slept in again today, ate some breakfast, checked out the olympics -- but I got up too late; only the soap operas were on (but I didn't check them out... well, only for a minute to laugh at them), went for a little exercise, took a shower, made some calls, put on a little mascara, and went to the grocery.

Unfortunately, my grocery shopping was extremely efficient. I guess I finally lived here long enough to know which isles my food is on. The trip, complete with traveling time, took 1/2 hour. No good! I blow-dried my hair and put on mascara! Sheesh, that little effort deserves at least an hour of viewing. The public should have a chance to appreciate my well-groomed appearance, and 20 minutes just won't cut it.

I guess grooming doesn't really fall under the bum category. I thought all the unscheduled time would make me a temporary bum, but if I'm grooming... see? I'm just not cut out to be a bum. Or maybe I should be a sophisticated bum. Does that exist? I eventually get up and eventually look nice, but only so that I can watch ten year old re-runs of ER. I think I could make that a category.

Well, whatever I now am, I am trying to appreciate, because soon I will be a hard-working poor person with half of my income going to taxes and the other half to rent. I'll probably have to find a fifth job to even be able to make 30 minute grocery trips, and then I'll have no more than 20 minutes to make them.

Limited reserves

I've been in Nashville 7 months. When considering moving here, I often reminded myself that Nashville, unlike practically all of Mississippi, has seasons. Real honest-to-goodness seasons. Spring, summer, fall, AND winter. I've never really had a winter except for the week one February when I went to Michigan. So, I counseled myself, Nashville has snow and extended cold weather; it might be your only chance in life to actually experience a real winter. A very convincing argument, if I do say so.

The winter of '05 - '06 has turned out to be one of the warmest winters the South (including Nashville, of course... the lines between North and South are growing fuzzier every day) has experienced. We've pretty much had highs in the 60s all winter except for a few cold snaps.

Did I mention I'm a very (very, very, very, ridiculously) cold-natured person?

This weekend was the big cold-snap, perhaps inspired by the winter olympics. We've had snow and ice and all that good stuff. The high yesterday was somewhere around 25, I believe. So, I've had my little taste of winter.

I was thinking about that fact as I sat comatose in my bed under two down blankets and three heavy quilts, struggling to stay warm enough to take my next breath. What I failed to consider when thinking a good, old-fashioned winter would be a good experience for me was that cold absolutely petrifies me. When my toes and fingers and nose and everything in between is cold, my only thought is to get under a blanket. I may or may not have the energy to prepare a hot drink. I don't even need a good book to curl up with. I find myself shivering under mounds of blankets in a stupor, thinking only about the fact that my toes are warmed to the point that I can feel them enough to realize they are freezing cold. All of my energy is entirely consumed with regaining some semblance of adequate warmth. The mere thought of pulling my cold fingers out from beneath the blanket to hold a book exhaustes me to the point of falling back into my thoughtless stupor.

I'm sure the answer is coffee, but it's started staining my teeth.

Either way, it must be a good thing that I'm moving back further south. I don't know if I could survive a real Nashville winter.

Feelings are funny things. You can make a well-informed decision for all the right reasons with all the best counsel, but if you have "funny" feelings about it, you doubt yourself. Major life changes, such as (ahem) moving are particularly apt to evoke such feelings of insecurity.

The bad thing is that nothing guarantees the feelings will go away. No five step process of self-esteem boosting will make you feel settled.

The good thing is that I'm not all feelings. My (really, really, really, incredibly) intelligent brain can overrule my doubting feelings.

And chocolate can make you feel good about anything....

This is a test. It is only a test. No grade will be given, and no papers collected. This is only a test.