It begins.

I noticed recently that my actual pen-and-paper journal was filled entirely with horrific accounts of random events; I only picked it up to empty my misery into it. In fact, I'm not miserable at all, and I hope this journal reflects that.

This is the start. Last week, two significant events took place: I submitted my book to the publisher; and I was accepted into grad school. The rest of my life will be shaped by these two things, maybe. I can only hope for the best, but already I am so relieved and excited about the future.

Gavin is currently in love with a grungy old plastic dollhouse, which he insists must neatly contain a bed, a chair, a toilet, a little boy doll, and two dump trucks to wreck the whole of it. He has a small rash of bumps across his forehead as a result of last night's naked twirly time outside, where he spun himself around until dizzy, sprinted across the neighbor's porch, and took a head dive onto the concrete with a sickening smack. Great. He took a break from this to fling his plastic hammer to the ground, clap his little hands to his cheeks, and declare "oh dear!" about seventy times. It was devastingly cute.