Dear diary,

I know I am kinda constantly saying this either to myself or others but it is so crazy to see how fast and how drastically your world can change. Just last night I was sitting next to Chas, eating tomato soup and corn muffins for dinner, when I started to think of what my life was like exactly one year ago.

Exactly 365 days ago I was living in Oregon by myself in my little yellow cottage. I had waken up early to go out shooting guns with a boy and his friends. We spent that snowy morning up in the mountains blowing up gasoline cans. At one point, we all spray painted little cardboard targets with someone's name (of our choosing) in the center. I will say this: I never thought I could unleash an entire round of bullets in a 22 pistol so quickly. Nor did I ever think it would feel so totally...satisfying. I kept that little makeshift target with all its bullet holes pinned to my fridge from that day on.

After coming home, I decided to celebrate this particularly epic Valentine's Day by going out and buying some hott perfume for myself. As I headed to the mall, I cranked up Foo Fighter's "Times Like These" and drove especially fast (just to feel the freedom/independence/danger).

Later, a boy dropped by to give me an apple pie with "Sam" written across the top in whipping cream.

That night, a little reluctantly, I hit up the tri-stake Salem young single adults Valentine's dinner and dance. It was everything you'd expect. If you were in attendance, you fell into one of two categories. Either 1. you were only there because you had nothing else to do and the thought of sitting home, alone drowning your sorrows in Ben & Jerry's was only slightly less appealing or 2. you and your cutie had been looking forward to this night for a few weeks now and have subsequently shown up in your most beautiful purple satin prom dress with your guy in something approaching very near to tuxedo territory (top hat and cane optional but definately encouraged). Please know that I was in that first group of people. Also know that "Cotton-Eyed Joe," a wild few rounds of limbo, and trying to always avoid that alarmingly creepy kid (did he really just say he's 18 years old!?) whenever a slow jam started characterized the evening.

Upon returning home, I found a bouquet of flowers waiting for me on my doorstep. I never did find out who that secret admirer was.

And now, one year later?

I'm sitting in my little Avenues apartment in Salt Lake City, writing in this blog, while my old friend and now husband, Chas Kelly, is cooking gorgonzola potato gnocchi.