You Know You've Been Working in Customer Service for Too Long When...

You eagerly volunteer heartfelt enthusiasm when someone so much as looks you in the eye.

"You too! Thank you for coming!"

That would be my overzealous yet nauseatingly genuine response to a gentleman this evening who, I later found out, was attempting to be scathing and facetious when he told me to "Have a great night."

Better to be oblivious and kind, methinks. Most of the time.

An Admission.

My name is Kate Canary, and I have become a morning person.

"Hi, Kate".

I actually couldn't will myself to sleep later than 8:30 this morning even though I don't have to be at work until noon, and am decidedly too sore from this weekend's combination of pilates/outdoor running/elliptical to go to the gym without undermining any real muscular progress.

I can't help but feel like this time is thus wasted, though I have consequently had the opportunity to clean my apartment, do dishes, watch the entirety of Regis and Kelly AND Rachael Ray, thoroughly enjoy my morning coffee, and write this blog post.

Is this the life of a morning person? Is this why these people live their lives in such an inexplicably calm state? I'm the girl who would roll out of bed at 10:45 for an 11AM class (ungodly early, but a degree requirement) - just enough time to throw on some yoga pants and a sorority hoodie and stumble into class, kashi bar in hand.

Yet here I am, in an outfit complete with matching accessories, make-up, and an almost unnerving sense of readiness. Is this adulthood?

The Love Question

I am the kind of tired that comes from allowing yourself an adequate amount of sleep for the first time in ages. While I wouldn't trade back a single moment of this weekend's delicious slumber, I now remember what I was missing. There is a sense of reckless liberation that comes from not setting even one of the two alarms to which I awake on a daily basis (poll: anal or responsible?)

On a whim, Dan and I went to see "(500) Days of Summer" today when our perpetually at-war schedules spontaneously aligned. I cherish my time spent with Dan, who will tragically be moving to Pittsburgh in the Fall. (To clarify, I consider this tragic only from a purely selfish standpoint; Dan is a unique and exceptional friend whose is utterly irreplaceable. Then again, his inability to be replaced is likely what has allowed our friendship to endure for so long, in spite of spending much of it miles apart. The move to Pittsburgh is actually something to be celebrated, as it marks the official beginning of what promises to be an extensive career doing what he loves.)

The movie was all I hoped it would be. Genuine, surprising, unpretentious yet at times profound. It drop-kicked this phenomenon called 'love' from its pedestal and redefined it as something accessible and real - something we may only find when we stop dressing it up as a trophy to be won and begin taking it for what it is: highly likely but utterly imperfect, often fleeting, rarely permanent, often agonizing and usually worth it.

And believe me, as yet another among a sea of women who can't help but think she deserves better than what she has been served in the love department, I find this difficult to admit. But the problem, it seems, is that we treat relationships as if they are an end to be reached. An answer to a problem. A light in the dark. We are putting entirely too much pressure on them.

The only relationship I have complete and utter faith in is with myself. And ultimately, that is the person I have to see when I wake up every morning, and the person with whom, whether I like it or not, I will grow old. The person who totally gets me.

Any other relationship, be it an intense unrequited crush or a lifelong commitment, is to be taken for what it is. It may change me for better or for worse; it will hopefully teach me something. It may last forever and it may create a hurt so deep that I think I will never recover. But I know who will be there when I do.

Trust me, I don't think I'm the first to extrapolate on the "No one can ever truly love you until you love yourself" philosophy. But it's a cliche for a reason, and also one that you have to experience first-hand to really take to heart. Of course I want to experience the kind of love with another person so influential that I question every single thing I believe. But doesn't the idea of this only happening once, even if it lasts forever, make it a little less interesting, exciting, even possible?

To blog or not to blog?

I guess it's a pretty decent sign that I'm doing valuable things with my life when I don't have time to blog. Come on, writing anything over 140 characters is so passe. Still, cultivating a personal writing outlet is becoming increasingly necessary as life becomes increasingly worth writing about. Which brings up my first question: ending sentences in prepositions as a stylistic choice: Go.

Kidding.

And, let's be serious. Blossoming professional and social life aside, there remains plenty of time that could be spent blogging when I am instead picking at my cuticles and watching reruns of 'The Real Housewives of New Jersey' or having a staring contest with my gym shoes.

But perhaps the dilemma I face each time I revisit the blank screen is walking the fine line between blogging about one's life (after all, isn't that all we really know?) and blogging about something greater, something more accessible to whoever lies out there in that great void to which we yield the moment we click 'publish'.

On one hand, we have the ultimate freedom, as we are pouring our thoughts into a public venue so vast that they can easily be ignored. On the other hand, the very public nature of a blog carries with it an implicit desire for others to read it, no? So how do we stay honest, yet relevant?

I guess we start with ourselves, and see where it leads us.